


(For Hearts To Find Home) To Be There With All You Need

by Lion_owl



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Mentioned: Susan; Vicki; Vrestin; Steven; Jamie; Zoe; Liz; Anne Travers; the Master, Other, POV Barbara Wright, Pronouns conversations (towards the end), Reunions, Slice of Life, can i please just take this moment to say how much i bloody love Vrestin? she is just so wonderful, hinted-at Telepathic Bond, implied autistic Alistair (i'm very convinced he is), mostly; but there were some things she couldn’t have known or observed that i felt needed addressed, nonbinary/genderfluid doctor, perspective shifts marked with a ≈, references to various First Second and Third Doctor serials (listed in notes), so there are also a couple of short sections which are from Alistair's POV, they have a LOT of catching up to do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29361993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lion_owl/pseuds/Lion_owl
Summary: Approximately half a decade after returning to London in 1965, Barbara and Ian find themselves unable to resist looking into a rumour about someone claiming to have seen aliens; a matter which is also being investigated by UNIT, and leads to an unexpected, happy reunion between some old friends.
Relationships: Barbara Wright & Jo Grant, Ian Chesterton & First Doctor & Barbara Wright, Ian Chesterton & Third Doctor & Barbara Wright, Ian Chesterton/Barbara Wright, John Benton & Third Doctor & Jo Grant & Mike Yates & Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, Third Doctor/Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, implied Jo Grant/Mike Yates/John Benton
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	(For Hearts To Find Home) To Be There With All You Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [es_99_einsteinium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/es_99_einsteinium/gifts).



> dedicated to es99einsteinium, who loves Ian and Barbara as much as i do; and since her getting excited with me over how wonderful they both are, is the main reason i managed to get this fic from the basic idea it's been stuck at for ages, to this finished piece 💕
> 
> many thanks to [nebula5030](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebula5030/) for beta reading this (twice!) and helping me with a lot of overall bashing it into shape, and for helping me narrow down the title. seriously, you’ve been an enormous amount of help with this 💖
> 
> title is from _No Bitter End_ by Tarja Turunen ( [youtube](https://youtu.be/dqZs-DFtx9g) / [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/4NmOn0oe48bUCW0a0WmWCR?si=cChNeWx5TKW2zf_2c4npbA) / [lyrics](https://genius.com/Tarja-no-bitter-end-lyrics) / [official lyrics](http://tarjaturunen.com/albums-the-brightest-void/) )
> 
> (yes, the Doctor and Brigadier are indeed still in touch with Anne Travers in this (and Liz Shaw, too, of course!) my headcanon is that she moved back to britain, to Cambridge in fact; and they are science girlfriends! it’s only very briefly implied in this fic, but i’m working on some more Liz/Anne focused fics…)
> 
> who on earth can be arsed unpicking the dating controversy when they could just do their own thing with the timelines, eh? my thing, generally speaking, is setting contemporary stories within a few months to a year of their broadcast date, and as such, this fic takes place around 1970/71
> 
> quite a few serials referenced in this fic, largely first doctor stories; however they're only very light references, so it should all still be clear even if you haven't seen all/any of them. they are: the Aztecs; the Dalek Invasion of Earth; the Romans; the Web Planet; the Chase; the Time Meddler; the Myth Makers; the Web of Fear; the War Games; Spearhead From Space; the Claws of Axos; & Colony In Space (and allusions to the Savages, the Invasion, & Day of the Daleks – the last of which hasn't happened yet...)

It’s a very nondescript Friday, and Barbara and Ian are where they can often be found: in the staffroom at Coal Hill, having a cuppa with several of their colleagues.

“Did you hear?” Lindsay begins, addressing the room at large. “My cousin in Maidstone telephoned me yesterday evening about some very interesting rumours flying around the town.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard any recent rumours concerning Maidstone,” Robert says. “What’s happening there?”

“Very little, I suspect,” Lindsay says. “It’ll all be in their heads.”

“Whose heads?” Clive prompts.

“Some nutters that are claiming to be seeing aliens rampaging about,” Lindsay says.

Ian and Barbara glance at each other, but neither says anything.

“What, little green men?” Robert sneers.

“Oh, I have heard about this,” Lisa says. “More like big purple men, apparently. Utter tosh, of course.”

Everyone laughs, and Barbara pretends to, and then the conversation moves on.

When it’s time for all the teachers to return to their classrooms, Barbara and Ian linger for a moment, alone in the staffroom.

“Idiots,” Ian scoffs. “Fools.”

“Now, now,” Barbara says, even though she can’t help but agree with Ian’s blunt assessment. “We would have agreed with them, once upon a time.”

“I suppose we would have,” Ian says. “It’s hard to believe now, isn’t it?”

“I know what you mean,” Barbara says. “Perception and memory are funny things.”

“Well I have to admit my curiosity is piqued,” Ian says. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If you’re thinking that since Heron is already staying with your parents this weekend, perhaps we could take the opportunity for a little trip to Kent and find out for ourselves; then yes, I am.”

“A woman after my own heart,” Ian grins. He steps towards her and gives her a soft, brief kiss.

“Tomorrow then?” she says, grinning too. “Ooh, this is exciting!”

The next day, they set off right after lunch, dropping Heron off with her grandparents on the way. They drive down to Maidstone, find a place to park, and spend a few hours wandering around, the entire time keeping a lookout.

Much of the town is surprisingly quiet for a Saturday afternoon, but they find no sign that there’s an extra-terrestrial reason for that.

Barbara is standing on the pavement, waiting for Ian outside a corner shop, when she’s approached by a man in an army-style uniform, with Sergeant stripes on his arm.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he says. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to clear this area.”

 _Well, this is promising_ , Barbara thinks. She can hardly ask to tag along when he’s asking her to leave, though, so instead she says: “my husband’s in there,” she indicates to the shop. “I’m sure he’ll be out in a moment.”

“Well, please move along as soon as he is,” the Sergeant says.

“Of course,” Barbara says. She peers through the propped-open door of the shop, looking out for Ian. When she turns around again she sees another man approaching, coming to stand next to the Sergeant in a manner which indicates they know each other, but instead of a uniform he’s wearing a frilly shirt and velvet coat.

“Well, I seem to have sussed–” he looks up and notices Barbara. “Good heavens.”

And he seems to be frozen in place, staring directly at her.

She finds she doesn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable in this man’s presence, doesn’t feel she’s in any danger whatsoever, but she’s wondering if she should be. She shifts from one foot to the other.

“Is everything alright?” Ian’s voice is a comfort nonetheless, and she senses her husband exit the shop and approach, putting an arm around her, two packets of pear drops in his hand. She leans into him, just to be sure.

The man turns his head and continues to stare, at Ian this time. “It really is you,” he says eventually. “Both of you?”

“You know these two?” the Sergeant asks. “We’re supposed to be clearing civilians from the area.”

 _He isn’t a civilian?_ Barbara wonders, _why isn’t he wearing a uniform, then?_

“Yes, I do,” he says. Barbara is about to contest this statement, but before she can, he continues: “Barbara and Ian are the right sort, I think we can let them stay.”

“But the Brigadier wants–” the Sergeant begins to argue.

“Now don’t worry about the Brigadier, I’ll make sure he understands,” the mystery man says. Still, Barbara can’t shake the uncanny feeling that there’s something familiar about him.

“How do you know our names?” Ian demands.

“Don’t you recognise me?” the man asks, then his expression turns a little sad. “No, of course you don’t.”

“Oh… I see.” A look of realisation crosses the Sergeant’s face. “You have some explaining to do, don’t you?”

Mystery man rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “Yes, Benton, it seems I do.”

“Look, what _is_ all this?” Ian demands. “Who are you?”

“I’m the Doctor,” the man says. “I’ve changed a bit since we last saw each other.”

“But how _can_ you be?” Barbara asks. “You’re younger than him, slightly. And you look completely different besides.”

“How do you know about the Doctor?” Ian asks, taking the slightly more sceptical approach, as usual.

The man – the Doctor? – lifts his other hand to rub at his neck with both. “No it isn’t Barbara, is it? You’re Yetaxa.” He turns to Ian. “And you, would you prefer the name Heron? Isn’t that what Vrestin would call you?”

“I don’t understand,” Barbara says. Although her instinct is telling her that he’s telling the truth. Somehow or other.

“Perhaps you would if Susan explained it to you?” the Doctor – she _is_ thinking of him as the Doctor now? – suggests. “Unfortunately we can’t nip over to the twenty-second century and ask her, being as my TARDIS is currently out of commission.”

“It _is_ you!” Ian declares, going from disbelief to belief like the flick of a switch, and removing his arm from Barbara’s shoulder and bounding over to hug the Doctor, who seems a bit surprised, but tentatively returns the hug.

“Yes,” the Doctor says once Ian releases him. “I’ve regenerated since we parted ways on Mechanus. Twice, in fact.”

He looks at Barbara questioningly.

“Oh go on then,” she says, moving to hug the Doctor as well. “It’s so good to see you again, Doctor.”

“Very good, indeed,” Ian agrees. Once Barbara’s stepped back, he gestures generally towards the Doctor. “I take it ‘regenerated’ explains… all of this?”

“Well it’s a trick we Timelords keep up our sleeves for otherwise-fatal injuries,” he says. “Now, Ian and Barbara, meet John Benton,” the Doctor says, indicating to the Sergeant, who has been standing there very quietly, but now looks up. “John, meet Ian Chesterton and Barbara Wright.” He indicates to each of them in turn.

“Nice to meet you,” the Sergeant – John Benton – says, offering his hand.

“You too,” Ian says, shaking Benton’s hand. “Er, we’re both Chesterton-Wright now, actually,”

“You got married?” the Doctor smiles. “Well, I can hardly say I’m surprised.”

“You aren’t?” Ian asks.

“Truth be told, I thought you were already married when we first met,” the Doctor says. “Susan told me you weren’t but I thought she was having me on.”

Ian snorts, and Barbara elbows him.

“Well, you know… travelling with you really put things into perspective for us,” she says.

In her peripheral vision, Barbara notices someone else walking towards them and looks over at the newcomer, who is also wearing uniform; an officer, this time.

“Ah, Brigadier,” the Doctor says without even turning to glance in the Brigadier’s direction; a grin spreads across his face. “How nice of you to join us.”

It occurs to Barbara to wonder how the Doctor knew he’d approached, without having looked.

“Yes, well, whenever you’re quite finished yacking, Doctor,” the Brigadier says, his tone indicating some exasperation. “We do have a job to do, you know.”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” the Doctor says, finally turning to face him for a moment, before he turns back and leans conspiratorially towards Ian and Barbara. “Well that’s me told,” he says in a stage-whisper, his grin not fading in the slightest.

“Sergeant Benton, I thought I ordered you to clear the area of civilians?”

“Er, the Doctor’s vouched for these two, Sir,” Benton says.

“Ian and Barbara used to travel with me,” the Doctor confirms.

“Very well, they can remain,” the Brigadier says, surprising Barbara. “The fact still remains that–”

“Yes, yes, I’m just coming,” the Doctor says, giving the Brigadier a nod before turning back to Ian and Barbara. “We’ll have to have a proper catch-up later?”

“Absolutely,” Barbara and Ian say at the same time.

“See you later, then,” the Doctor says. He turns and follows as the Brigadier strides away, and Barbara finds herself scowling at their retreating forms.

“To be fair,” Benton says, and he seems to be stifling a fond sort of laughter as he watches them both go, “the Doctor can be a bit of a handful at times.”

“That’s certainly true,” Barbara agrees – so it seems not much has changed there, then, at least.

“Still, that Brigadier seemed awful brusque with him,” Ian says, echoing Barbara’s concerns.

“Sometimes he has to be; and believe you me, the Doctor gives as good as they get when it comes to brusqueness,” Benton says. “In any case, while those two sometimes appear extremely nippy on the outside, once one gets to know them it’s clear they hold the deepest of trust, care, and respect for each other.”

“I suppose the Doctor did seem pretty delighted for someone who was ostensibly getting a dressing down from one’s boss,” Barbara concedes.

Benton snorts. “ _Boss?_ That’d be the day.”

“And he didn’t question the Doctor for a second when you said he vouched for us,” Ian notes.

“You see?” Benton says. “He’s a good man, and he and the Doctor mean the _world_ to each other. I appreciate both of your instincts to protect the Doctor, and I’m certain the Brig would appreciate that too. And don’t tell either of them I said all of this. They might get embarrassed.”

“You have my word,” Ian says, miming zipping up his mouth, locking it, and throwing away the key.

“My word, too, as long as you don’t expect me to do _that_ ,” Barbara says, indicating Ian’s silly actions. “Thank you for reassuring us.”

Benton inclines his head. “Well I’d better go and see if anything needs doing. Are you both coming?”

“Yep,” Barbara says, as Ian nods, and the three of them head off in the direction the Doctor and Brigadier had gone in.

“Does he have a name, by the way?” Barbara asks, addressing Benton.

“That is something I have sometimes wondered,” Benton says. “Have they never told you either?”

“What?” Barbara says.

“Has the Doctor never told you if–” he grimaces, then shakes his head to himself. “If _h_ e has another name?”

“Oh, no, he hasn’t. But I’m long since used to that.” She glances at Ian, but he seems lost in thought about something. “I meant the Brigadier, I’ve only heard either of you referring to him _as_ ‘the Brigadier’ so far.”

“Oh,” Benton says. “So we have. I’ve known him for years, so that didn’t occur to me. His name’s Lethbridge-Stewart.”

“Lethbridge-Stewart,” Barbara repeats. “A little bit of a mouthful, I suppose. Not that I can talk, since Ian and I double-barrelled.”

“Hence why we often just say ‘the Brigadier’, or even ‘the Brig’, now and then,” Benton says. “Unless it’s an occasion for forenames, of course.”

Up ahead, the Doctor has come into view, standing with the Brigadier, a blonde woman in a colourful dress, and another officer… and a group of people who are very tall – over three metres, at a guess – with purple skin, and quite a few more than two arms each, some of which could well be tentacles.

_So these must be the aliens who’re the subject of those rumours._

“We said so, didn’t we,” Barbara says, turning to Ian, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed yet so she taps him on the shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, absolutely fine,” Ian says, drawn from his thoughts. “Just pondering something. It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me later. Now do so discreetly, but look over there,” she says. “We were right, the people Lindsay mentioned, they weren’t hallucinating.”

As they watch, the Doctor holds his hand towards one of the aliens and passes them a small box attached to some kind of necklace chain. The alien takes the object and puts it around their neck, and suddenly disappears. Barbara thinks she can still see them if she squints, but it gives her a bit of a headache when she tries.

The alien reappears and starts making an excited-looking gesture with their arms and tentacles. The Doctor makes a gesture that looks like an attempt at the one the alien is making, but doesn’t quite match up with only two arms and no tentacles.

“Well, Doctor?” says the blonde woman. “Do they agree?”

“Yes,” the Doctor says. “They’re more than happy to wear them while they’re here on Earth.”

“That’s a relief,” says the other officer – who, now that Barbara is close enough to see his uniform in more detail, she can see is a Captain.

“Did we miss all the fun?” Ian asks as he, Barbara and Benton come to stand beside the group.

Several of the aliens start making a pattern of sounds which Barbara guesses is their spoken language, and the Doctor walks over to them to join in.

“I’m afraid so,” the Brigadier says. “I assume you’ll be pleased to know we aren’t being invaded.”

“Oh, that’s good news!” Barbara says.

“You must be Barbara and Ian?” the blonde woman says. “The Doctor very excitedly mentioned that you were here. I’m Jo Grant, and this is Mike Yates.”

Jo and Mike shake hands with each of Ian and Barbara in turn.

“And I believe you’ve met Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart?” Jo continues. Barbara wonders at the way nobody has said his given name yet, and privately muses on the parallel between him and the Doctor in that regard.

“Not properly,” the Brigadier says. “I’m sorry about before, that was rude of me.”

“Not at all,” Barbara says. “You were in a hurry.”

“Yes, sorry for keeping the Doctor talking,” Ian adds.

“That’s very gracious of you both, thank you,” the Brigadier says. “Well?”

Barbara is about to say, ‘well, what?’ but then she realises the Doctor has just re-joined the group, and he was addressing him.

“I’ve explained to them how to make perception filters, and they’re all going back to their ship until they’ve done that,” the Doctor says. “They offered me a job as their tour guide.”

“They’re tourists?” Barbara asks.

“Essentially yes,” the Doctor says, sounding a mite irritated. “They’re harmless, they’re just here to explore, but their appearance is a bit conspicuous on Earth, as you’ll have noticed, so people did what you Humans are so very good at, and panicked.”

“Only it took us a little while to work that out because their language is a bit difficult to translate, so the Doctor had to learn the basics of it manually,” Jo continues the explanation.

“So now we’ve given them perception filters so they can wander freely without being noticed,” the Doctor finishes.

“Did you take the job?” Mike asks.

“Their tour guide for the _galaxy_ ,” the Doctor says. “But I did suggest they visit Cornwall while they’re here.”

“Ah,” Mike says.

The Doctor and Brigadier glance at each other; for a moment, Barbara thinks her ears have stopped working, because she gets the impression they’re having a conversation, but neither of them has said anything.

“Galactic tour guide? Isn’t that sort of already what you do?” Ian asks, confirming that Barbara’s ears _are_ working. She must have just imagined it.

Jo visibly shivers. “It’s getting a bit cold, do you mind if we continue this conversation once we’re indoors?”

“I agree, Jo,” Benton says. “Time we cleared up here, Sir?”

“Quite,” the Brigadier agrees.

“Yes, on that note,” the Doctor says, turning to Barbara and Ian. “Would you both care to join us for dinner?”

“I’d love to,” Barbara says. “If Ian does?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Ian agrees.

“I’m looking forward to it,” the Doctor says, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you need a lift?”

“No, we’ve got our car,” Ian says.

“Great. Well I’d better go check on our friends, first; make certain they don’t need any more help building the perception filters. And then I’ll meet all of you over there?”

“Can I come with you, Doctor?” Jo asks.

“If you’d like, Jo.”

There’s a round of agreement from the other three.

“Er, where’s ‘there’?” Barbara asks.

“Oh, of course,” the Doctor says, digging around in his pockets and producing small a notebook and pen, he scribbles something down, and rips it out and passes it to Barbara.

“My address,” the Brigadier supplies.

“Thanks,” Barbara says, showing it to Ian before slipping it into her pocket.

“See you in…” she trails off, realising she has no idea how long it takes to get there. “See you shortly.”

“Alright,” Barbara says, once she and Ian are back in their car. “Spit it out.”

“Spit what out?”

“Whatever it is you’ve been cogitating on.”

“I’ve been thinking about what Benton said,” Ian says. “And possibly what he _didn’t_ say.”

“How do you mean?”

“Do you think he was implying – or trying not to imply – that the Doctor and Brigadier are romantically involved?”

“I didn’t think about it,” Barbara says, rerunning the entire conversation in her head. “I don’t know. I think it could go either way.”

“It could definitely go either way,” Ian agrees. “But there’s also – I don’t know either, but I can’t shake the feeling that there was a layer of flirtation to the way they spoke to each other.”

“I don’t think we should speculate,” Barbara says. “If they are, and if they want us to know, they’ll tell us.”

“You’re right of course,” Ian says. “It isn’t as if it matters, is it? It wouldn’t change how much we both care about the Doctor.”

“No, of course not,” Barbara says, turning the key in the ignition.

The drive takes an hour and a half, it turns out; but it takes Ian and Barbara an hour and three-quarters because they stop off along the way to buy some wine and biscuits, seeing as that’s generally the polite thing to do as a dinner guest.

They’re fairly certain they’re in the right place when they get there, because they both take one look at the old yellow car parked in the driveway, simultaneously say that that looks like something the Doctor would drive, look at each other, and burst out laughing.

Once their laughter subsides, they get out of the car and go to knock on the door. Jo answers it, greets them with a bubbly smile, and shows them through to the living room, where Mike and John are sitting on a sofa, both having changed out of their uniforms, and a fire is burning in the hearth.

“The Doctor’s through there,” Jo says, gesturing towards another door as she goes to sit with the other two on the sofa.

“Thanks,” Ian says, following behind Barbara as she knocks twice on the door before pushing it open to reveal a kitchen, where the Doctor indeed is, standing at the hob stirring something in a pan. The Brigadier’s there too, also having changed into civvies, and is chopping a selection of vegetables.

“You found the place, then,” the Doctor notes, turning and walking towards Barbara and Ian, pulling both of them into a wide hug.

“Doctor, the – oh, never mind,” the Brigadier says behind them, and goes to continue stirring whatever the Doctor had just abandoned.

“Yes, it was easy enough,” Ian says.

“That yellow car…?” Barbara leaves the sentence hanging.

“Is a very fine car,” the Doctor says sternly. “I shan’t hear a single bad word about Bessie.”

“Bessie?”

“After a very good friend,” the Doctor says. “Unfortunately Liz and her partner couldn’t make it down from Cambridge for this evening.” He releases them both and goes back over to the hob; and Ian’s words from earlier echo in Barbara’s head when she can’t help but notice the casual, lingering way the Doctor’s fingers brush against the Brigadier’s as he goes to take the spoon back. “Sorry, Alistair.”

Ian prods her.

“Oi,” she says, prodding him back. Then she reaches into her handbag for the wine and selection box. “Er, we brought these.”

The Brigadier – Alistair, evidently; although the way the Doctor said it, the softness of his voice, felt so… _private_ , Barbara feels almost as though _she_ shouldn’t be calling him by that – withdraws his hand from under the Doctor's, and turns around to look. “Oh, thank you,” he says.

She places them on an unbusy part of the counter.

“Look, do you mind if,” the Doctor says.

“No, alright then,” the Brigadier says. “Send someone in to take over, will you?”

“Thanks,” the Doctor says, taking the pan off the heat, before getting three wine glasses out of a cupboard and then turning back to Ian and Barbara, and gesturing towards the still-open door back into the living room. “Shall we?”

Barbara picks back up the wine bottle, leaving the biscuits, and follows him.

Jo, Mike and John are all three sprawled across each other on the sofa, and make no move to sit up when the Doctor, Barbara and Ian arrive.

“Mike,” the Doctor says. “Could I ask a favour?”

“What is it?” Mike asks, lifting his head from John’s shoulder to look up at the three newcomers.

“Alistair could do with another set of hands with the cooking and I, well… I haven’t seen these two in many years.”

“Say no more,” Mike says, getting to his feet.

“Thank you,” the Doctor says, patting him on the shoulder as he walks past to go and assist, then goes to sit down at one end of the unoccupied sofa across the room. Ian sits down at the other end, and Barbara sits down next to him, leaning against him and resting a hand on his knee.

Once the three of them have got settled, and the wine has been poured, a comfortable silence settles between them and Barbara has no idea where to begin. Then she remembers something the Doctor said hours ago, right at the beginning of all this, that had nagged at her:

“What did you mean, by the way, about the TARDIS being out of commission?”

“Quite exactly that, I’m afraid. It doesn’t work, it’s been sabotaged. I’m afraid I haven’t had much luck trying to fix it.”

“Sabotaged?!” Ian sounds as shocked as Barbara feels. “By whom?”

“By some self-important Timelord tribunal or other,” the Doctor says. “I asked for help in stopping this Warlord we encountered, from abducting people; and their response was to put me on trial for ‘interfering’ with the universe, and then to punish me by sending me off to continue doing what I was already doing, except exiled to one single time and place, but deliberately chose somewhere they’d observed I actually like.”

“That’s… confusing,” Ian says.

“I… can’t say I follow their logic, either,” the Doctor agrees. “Forced me to regenerate so I wouldn’t be recognised, then dropped me right in the path of an old friend who recognised me anyway.”

“Benton?” Barbara asks, remembering how he’d cottoned on to why Ian and Barbara hadn’t initially recognised the Doctor.

“The Brigadier,” the Doctor clarifies. “Although I _had_ also met Benton by then, albeit much more briefly. I don’t think the Timelords could have reckoned on how quickly and easily Alistair would suss out and accept the entire situation… I _have_ wondered if they thought all of it might ruin Earth for me, that being trapped here I would grow to resent the place I’d developed an interest in, the people who’d become my friends.”

“That’s horrible,” Barbara says, feeling a little upset at the thought. “I’m so sorry, Doctor.”

“It’s only speculation,” the Doctor says. “And in any case, _if_ that was their goal, it ultimately failed. I hated it at first – and good grief did I stamp my feet about it – but instead I’ve grown to not only care about this silly planet, but consider it a home. Quite honestly, I feel more at home _here_ _and now_ than I _ever_ did on Gallifrey.”

“I’ll admit I didn’t get the impression today, that you were here against your will,” Ian says.

“Not entirely,” the Doctor says, picking up a cushion from beside him and putting it on his legs. “Travelling in the TARDIS and seeing the universe, I miss it all something rotten; but even when I manage to get that sorted, this is somewhere I’ll always come back to.”

“Awww,” Ian says. “Well on a selfish note, I hope that means we’ll see a lot more of you again from now on.”

“I’d love that,” the Doctor says. “I’ve missed you both very much. And I’m sorry about how grumpy I often was with you both when we travelled together.”

“We’ve missed you as well, Doctor,” Barbara says. It’s something they’ve discussed on a number of occasions. She reaches over to squeeze his shoulder before leaning back against Ian.

The three of them lapse back into silence for a moment, then the Doctor speaks again: “what’s _really_ horrible is what they did to Zoe and Jamie.”

“Who?”

“Friends of mine who were travelling with me when the Timelords decided to stick their noses into my business. The Timelords decided to send them both back to their own times and erase their memories of ever having been away. But locked up in their ivory tower I very much doubt they understand the Human brain well enough to have done so safely, especially during a moment when we were all under such stress. When the TARDIS is working again I’m planning to go back to the moments after they left, and restore their memories and give them the choice of whether they want to stay or leave, but I’m very worried that if I’m not able to, it could cause one or both of them serious, possibly even fatal, damage.”

“That _is_ horrible,” Barbara agrees. She likes the sound of these Timelords less and less with everything the Doctor says about them.

“These Timelords of yours don’t sound like very nice people,” Ian says. “No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor says. “Why do you think Susan and I ran away in the first place?”

“True,” Ian says. “Well I’m certain you’ll work it out, how to fix the ship, Doctor.”

“Ian, was that almost a compliment?” Barbara asks.

“So it was,” the Doctor says, chuckling. “How times change.”

Ian splutters, but eventually admits that it was, and the three end up grinning.

“Times really have changed,” Ian says. “Haven’t they, Barbara?”

“What?” she says, “oh, yes. Shall we tell him?”

“Tell me what?” the Doctor prompts.

“We have a daughter,” Ian says. “She’s two.”

“Oh,” the Doctor says, and he doesn’t seem entirely sure how to react.

“She’s lovely,” Barbara says. “She’s at her grandma’s for the weekend.”

“What’s her name?” the Doctor asks.

“Er,” Ian laughs. “Her name’s Heron, actually.”

“After Vrestin – laterally,” Barbara adds. “We wanted to name her after her, but we didn’t think we could actually call her _Vrestin_.”

“So Barbara suggested Heron, since that’s what Vrestin called me, and if anyone asks we can say we named her after the Earth bird,” Ian explains.

“Though we’ll probably just say ‘bird’, not ‘Earth bird’,” Barbara reminds him.

“That’s sweet,” the Doctor says. “I reckon Vrestin would be delighted.”

Once they start, they keep going, reminiscing about all of their various adventures together in the TARDIS, with both Susan and Vicki.

After a while, something occurs to the Doctor: “oh, do you both remember Steven Taylor?”

“The chap we met very briefly in the Mechanoid city, before it got destroyed?” Ian clarifies.

“He went back for his cuddly toy panda,” Barbara recalls. “We assumed he died.”

“Well he didn’t,” the Doctor informs them. “He’s alive.”

“He is?” Barbara asks. She hadn’t really thought about Steven in years, but nonetheless finds herself happy to hear this.

The Doctor nods. “He successfully rescued HiFi the panda, and stowed away in the TARDIS. Vicki and I found him a few hours later. He was very confused. And the Monk hardly helped matters, bringing all that anachronistic technology to the eleventh century.”

“I don’t blame him,” Ian laughs. “Well, it’s nice to know that both Steven and HiFi survived.”

“He travelled with me for quite some time afterwards, became a good friend,” the Doctor says. “You know something, though? I don’t imagine he took HiFi with him when the TARDIS materialised on that planet where he ended up staying behind.”

“Is this you realising you have a toy panda kicking about on the ship somewhere?” Ian asks.

“I expect I must do.”

The Doctor and Ian both laugh.

“Doctor,” Barbara says. “What about Vicki? Where’s she?”

“Classical Anatolia – well, we ended up in the tail end of the Trojan War, and she wanted to stay,” the Doctor says. “Also, I… _may_ have given them the Horse idea.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” Ian says, in a tone that indicates he can entirely believe the Doctor did, in fact, give Odysseus the idea.

“I was running out of better ideas,” the Doctor grumbles. “I didn’t think that one would actually be taken seriously.”

“That sounds exactly like something you would have done,” Ian says. “Like when you gave Nero the idea of setting the whole of Rome on fire, or so Vicki told us.”

The Doctor huffs.

“The Trojan horse, did it work?” Barbara asks. “I’ve got to know.”

“I’m afraid it did,” the Doctor says. “Fortunately I’ve mostly grown out of _that_ particularly mischievous habit.”

Barbara bursts out laughing.

“In the ensuing chaos, Vicki and Steven managed to escape, and we reconvened at the TARDIS, but she told me she was staying behind. She’d fallen in love with, oh, what was his name?” the Doctor thinks for a moment. “Troilus, I believe.”

Barbara goes still. “Troilus and Vicki? That doesn’t sound quite right, does it.”

“Doesn’t it?” the Doctor asks. “At any rate, his father suggested she change her name to Cressida, which she quite liked the sound of.”

“Oh no,” Barbara says. “No, tell me she didn’t.”

“She did.”

“Do I take it then, you’ve never heard that part of the story, Doctor?”

“Faithless Cressida,” Ian supplies. “But Vicki wouldn’t, I’m sure of it.”

“Diomedes was dead,” the Doctor says. “He’d died before we even arrived, and Steven borrowed his name when he tried to rescue Vicki. Troilus thought she fancied Steven but she reassured him that wasn’t the case.”

“So that particular tale isn’t quite accurate then,” Barbara says. “Well that’s a relief.”

“Sounds like Troilus and Cressida lived happily ever after, _after_ all,” Ian says hopefully.

“Yes, I think so – ah, that’s dinner ready,” the Doctor says. “I hope you’re both hungry.”

“How do you know?” Ian asks, beating Barbara to the question.

The Doctor blinks. “A hunch?” he doesn’t sound convinced by his own answer. “Are you coming?”

Barbara raises an eyebrow, but the Doctor stands and hurries towards the kitchen so she decides to leave it. She turns towards the other sofa to see if Jo and Benton need informed, but sees neither of them are still there. She hadn’t noticed them leave.

“That was odd,” Ian says.

“It’s the Doctor,” Barbara says. “Not the oddest thing ever.”

She stands and offers Ian her hands, faux pulling him to his feet.

Dinner does indeed appear to be ready, they discover once they reach the kitchen, where the Brigadier, Doctor and Jo are busy plating up lasagne, which both looks and smells fantastic.

“Can we help in any way?” Ian asks for both of them.

“You could help me carry these through,” Jo says, picking up a plate in each hand, and gesturing with her head for them to do the same and follow her.

They do, through the next door to a dining room, where there are seven places set at a table along with a series of mismatched chairs. Mike is sitting at the far end of the table, John to his left, and they both look up when Jo, Ian and Barbara enter the room.

“We think we’ve worked out the solution,” Mike says.

“Brilliant,” Jo says. “We can discuss it when we get home.”

“Are these going in any particular places?” Barbara asks.

“They’re all the same,” Jo says, placing the two plates she’s carrying in front of Mike and John and sitting herself down on John’s other side.

Barbara puts her two plates down on the same side of the table and sits on the end next to Jo. Ian puts his two plates down and turns to go back to the kitchen for the last one, and almost collides with the Doctor and Brigadier, who have arrived carrying the final plate, a large bowl of salad, and a bottle of wine.

Ian sits opposite Barbara, the Doctor sits beside him, and the Brigadier, after uncorking the wine and pouring everyone’s glasses, sits down between the Doctor and Mike, completing the circle. Well, the rectangle.

There’s a round of ‘cheers’ and glasses clinking, and everyone saying ‘bon appétit’, before tucking in.

“Ooh, this is delicious,” Jo says, beating Barbara to it.

“I was just about to say so myself,” she says.

“As was I,” Ian agrees.

“Glad you’re all enjoying it,” the Brigadier says.

“So what exactly is it you all _do_ , I was wondering?” Ian asks. “Isn’t every job that sees you getting to spend your afternoon chatting with aliens, now is it.”

“Are we allowed to say?” Mike asks, addressing the Brigadier.

“I’m surprised the Doctor hasn’t said already,” the Brigadier says, by way of assent.

“We’re part of an organisation called United Nations Intelligence Taskforce,” Mike explains. “UNIT for short. We – well, simply put, we investigate… bizarre happenings.”

“Bizarre happenings which, more often than not, have aliens at the end of the trail,” John says. “We have quite a few such afternoons. And quite a few fighting off the less friendly ones as well.”

“Half the time they seem to lead to one particular alien,” Jo says, “called the Master.”

“The _Master_?”

“A fellow Timelord,” the Doctor says. “And a right menace, to boot.”

Jo chuckles softly. “We’ve all tried to tell him there are ways to get the Doctor’s attention that don’t involve hypnotising or killing people, but he won’t listen.”

“He sounds…” Ian begins, but trails off. Barbara can’t blame him – she doesn’t really know what this bloke sounds like, either.

“I know,” Jo says, nodding solemnly.

“Well, until today, everything’s been pretty mundane for us since we got back, hasn’t it?” Barbara says, turning towards Ian. “Oh, now there was that time the entire London Underground shut down. We did wonder what all that was about.”

“Yes, all that mysterious mist and fog in the streets,” Ian adds.

“Oh. yes, I was there,” the Doctor says, putting down his fork. “That’s actually where we first met, wasn’t it.” He gestures back and forth between himself and the Brigadier.

“Hmm? Yes, it was,” the Brigadier says, giving the Doctor a fond smile. “The one bright point in an otherwise utterly dreadful week.”

The Doctor smiles back, and squeezes the Brigadier’s forearm for a moment before picking up his fork again.

“What _did_ cause that?” Ian asks. “We never found out.”

“We were admittedly sceptical about the few vague claims the newspapers were making,” Barbara says.

“A being that calls itself the Great Intelligence,” the Doctor says. “As well as some robots it controlled to do the corporeal work, and…” he pauses for a short moment. “Well it wasn’t a very pleasant situation. Rather a lot of people were killed.”

“Oh,” Barbara says.

“We can change the subject,” Ian says. “I have a different question for you, Doctor.”

“What’s that?” the Doctor asks.

“When did you stop referring to the ship as such?”

“What?” the Doctor blinks.

“Yes, that’s right,” Barbara agrees. “We always used to refer to the TARDIS as ‘the ship’; but today, you haven’t done so, not even once that I can recall.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?” Ian says, laughing.

“I… hadn’t,” the Doctor says slowly. “But you’re absolutely right.”

“So you don’t know when?” Barbara asks.

“I’ve never heard you refer to it as anything other than the TARDIS,” Jo volunteers.

“Me neither,” Benton agrees.

“At first you told me you had ‘ _a_ craft’,” the Brigadier says. “But that was before you – well, before Anne Travers – told me it was called a TARDIS.”

The Doctor chuckles. “Now that’s a mystery I’ll probably never solve.”

“I think I’ll always think of it as the ship,” Ian says.

Barbara nods.

“Would anyone like a refill?” Mike asks, uncorking another bottle of wine.

“Ooh, yes please,” Jo says eagerly, draining what’s left in her glass.

“I don’t think so, I’m afraid,” Ian says. “Not if I’m to remain under the limit to drive Barbara and myself home later.”

“Well you could–” the Doctor looks towards the Brigadier, his expression prompting.

“Absolutely,” the Brigadier turns towards Barbara and Ian each in turn. “You’d be welcome to stay the night, if you wanted. Save you having to drive all the way back into London tonight. Wouldn’t take a moment to make the spare bed.”

“You’re certain it wouldn’t be an imposition?” Barbara asks.

“Not at all,” he says. “I’ve nowhere to be tomorrow.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Ian says. “What do you think, Barbara?”

“I’d be delighted,” Barbara says. She turns to the Brigadier. “Thank you.”

“Not at all,” the Brigadier says.

“Well in that case, yes please, Mike,” Ian says.

As the meal goes on, the conversation naturally splits into smaller groups, and Barbara finds herself chatting just with Jo.

“… then there was all this screaming and I couldn’t even think, so the Doctor started asking me basic maths questions. You know, multiply some numbers then subtract another, and so on,” Jo continues, waving her hands about as she recounts the incident, “to keep me focused on escaping from the Axos.”

“That sounds terrifying,” Barbara says.

“Oh it was,” Jo confirms. “But we got out, and in the end the Doctor trapped them in a time loop, so they’ll just relive that day over and over. They can’t do any more harm. I’m sure you must have found yourself in some frightening situations as well.”

“Indeed we have,” Barbara says, casting her mind back. “I think the Daleks were probably the worst.”

“I haven’t met them,” Jo says. “Well not so far, anyway.”

“Count yourself lucky,” Barbara says. “They’re horrible. Utter, pure evil.”

Jo frowns. “Is _any_ thing really _pure_ evil?”

“Not many, but the Daleks are. We encountered them several times and all they ever wanted to do was destroy _everything_ else.”

Jo shudders. “Well I hope I don’t encounter them then.”

“I hope you don’t, too,” Barbara says.

“What was your favourite place that you visited?” Jo asks.

“Oh, that’s a tough one,” Barbara says, tilting her head as she thinks. “I honestly don’t think I could say. I suppose, generally speaking I preferred trips Earth’s past, over trips to the future or to other planets.

“Oh?” Jo sounds a little surprised. “Why is that?”

“Well I’m a historian,” Barbara says. “I was usually the one that worked out where and when we were, whenever we were in the past. I understood what was going on, and I got to experience my field of study in real time. Events I’d read about, I got to witness for myself, them unfolding.”

“I see,” Jo says. “Yes, that does sound excellent. You know, I’ve never–”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mike says, “the Doctor and I are about to go and put out the sticky toffee pudding. There’s some ice cream to go with it too. Would you both like some?”

“Ooh, yes please,” Jo says.

“Definitely, thanks,” Barbara says. She turns back to Jo. “You’ve never…?”

“Never been to the past,” Jo continues. “I’ve only travelled once in the TARDIS. To another planet in the future.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Well… I wouldn’t describe it as a prime holiday destination, but it was certainly an… _interesting_ experience. And then of course, the Master had to bloody show up, impersonating the Adjudicator who’d been sent for to settle a territorial dispute over the planet, but he was actually just trying to get his hands on a weapon hidden nearby.”

“Sounds like a fairly average day in the life of a TARDIS traveller,” Barbara remarks.

Jo laughs. “A fairly average day in the life of a UNIT employee, too. I was glad to get home, though.”

“That’s understandable,” Barbara says, remembering how relieved _she’d_ felt to finally get home, even though she _had_ very much enjoyed it all. “Would you go again?”

“Go somewhere in the TARDIS again?”

“Yeah?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Jo says. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance to.”

Barbara nods.

“Would you?” Jo asks.

She hadn’t been expecting _that_. “Er… well, before today I didn’t know if I’d ever even see the Doctor again. I suppose… in theory I suppose I might like to, but I _do_ now have a child to consider. So perhaps not. We’ll see.”

“Oh, of course,” Jo says.

“Now this also looks fantastic,” Barbara says, when the Doctor and Mike return bearing pudding.

“By the way, Brigadier, when did you–” Jo begins to say, but her sentence gets interrupted by a yawn. She looks at her watch. “Goodness, I’ve been awake for nearly fifteen hours. Ah, never mind, I’ll ask you on Monday.”

“That long?” Barbara asks. “You must be knackered.”

“Oh, I am,” Jo confirms, stifling another yawn. She leans over to put her head on John’s shoulder and closes her eyes.

“Shall we be making tracks?” Mike suggests.

“That’s probably wise,” John says.

“Nah, I’m staying _right_ here,” Jo says quietly.

“Come on, Jo,” John says, clasping her arm and giving her a gentle shake. “You’ll be glad for it once you’re home.”

“Yeah,” Jo says, slowly getting to her feet with what looks like great effort. She sways on her feet a bit as she leans over to hug Barbara tightly. “It was so nice to meet you.”

Barbara hugs her back. “It was lovely to meet you too.”

“Where did I put the car keys?” Mike asks, patting down his pockets.

“I’ve got them,” Benton says. “You are _not_ sober enough to drive, Mike.”

“I’ll see you to the door,” the Brigadier says, getting to his feet also.

The four of them depart the dining room, and after a moment Barbara blinks and realises the Doctor has gone too, and Ian and Barbara are left alone in the dining room.

Ian gets up from his chair and walks – somewhat wobbly – around the table to sit down in the chair vacated by Jo, next to Barbara, and rests his head on her shoulder. She leans her own head against his and lies her hand flat on the table in front of him and he takes it, threading their fingers together.

“We’ve been up almost as long,” he points out.

“Are you tired?” she asks. She herself feels wide awake.

“A little,” he admits. “Maybe got an hour or two in me yet, but when they get back we should ask about where we’re sleeping.”

“Good idea,” she says, closing her eyes. She can’t really think of anything to say, so she doesn’t. Ian doesn’t speak either, both of them content with the quiet.

She isn’t sure how much time passes before she starts to wonder if they’ve been forgotten about – although she knows of course this won’t be the case. Her guess is about quarter of an hour by the time the Doctor and Brigadier return, taking the same chairs they were sitting in before.

“That’s the spare bedroom sorted out,” the Brigadier informs them. “And there’re a couple of clean towels and unopened toothbrushes on the bed. Just say when you want to be shown the way up.”

“Very thorough,” Ian says. “Thank-you.”

The four of them continue to chat about a variety of unimportant things for a little while, but gradually the gaps between anyone saying anything get longer.

Ian yawns.

“I think it’s perhaps bedtime for us,” Barbara says, feeling ready to yawn herself.

“For me as well, I think,” the Brigadier says. He glances at the Doctor.

“I’ll start to tidy up a bit down here, first,” the Doctor says. “But I doubt it’ll be long before I follow you three’s example.”

They all stand, and the Doctor goes about stacking the cutlery and crockery scattering the dining table.

“Goodnight, Doctor,” Barbara says.

“Yes, goodnight, Doctor,” Ian echoes.

“Goodnight, both of you,” the Doctor says, with a smile and a nod. 

Leaning on each other for steadiness – Barbara may have slightly lost count of how many glasses of wine she’s drank tonight – they follow the Brigadier back through the kitchen, living room and hallway up the stairs; the doors on the landing all swimming in Barbara’s sozzled vision.

“That’s the bathroom,” the Brigadier says, pushing open a door, and Barbara can see the sink. Then he opens a different door before stepping back. “This is you.”

“Thank you,” Barbara says,

She and Ian stumble into the room and end up flopping onto the bed, on top of the covers, and she finds herself suddenly overcome with a fit of giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Ian asks her.

“We don’t have pyjamas,” she points out.

“Why’s that funny?” he asks.

“I have absolutely no idea,” she says, continuing to laugh, until Ian dissolves into laughter too.

“We’re druuuuunk,” he sing-songs.

Barbara nods, even though he probably can’t see her do so. Eventually they manage to calm down, and realise they’ll just have to sleep in their smalls.

“Oh well, I’m sure we’ll survive for one night,” Barbara says.

“We will. At least we have these – oops.”

There is a soft thud of the pack of toothbrushes falling onto the carpet, followed by Ian rolling onto his front and stretching his legs across the mattress, leaning over the side and steadying his hands apart on the carpet, and attempting to reach for the toothbrushes. This, in turn, is followed by the louder thump of Ian himself falling on the floor.

Barbara laughs.

“Thanks for your support,” Ian says, as seriously as he can when he’s lying on his back on the carpet, splayed out like a starfish, and hiccupped twice while he said it.

“You’re very welcome,” Barbara says. She rolls over and lands on the floor with only a very marginal amount more grace, and then has to lean on the mattress anyway, to get to her feet.

“Well, joke is on you,” Ian says, waving the brushes in the air triumphantly as he stands. “For I have claimed my prize, and you walk away from this contest with nothing.”

“Gimme those,” Barbara says, snatching them easily from his hand.

Ian pouts.

“I have claimed my prize, and you walk away from this contest with nothing,” Barbara proclaims, unswayed by Ian’s continued pouting.

The pair stumble back out into the hallway, talking in turns to use the bathroom, and stumble once again back to the bedroom and stripping down, clothes landing in a careless pile on the floor.

“Oh, the door,” Barbara says, walking over and closing it – and grimacing at how loud it sounds. “Wait, where’s my hairbrush?”

“Isn’t it in your handbag?” Ian asks.

“I think I left that in the living room,” Barbara says. “Oh… well, I’ll just have to have a birds nest on my head in the morning.”

“Birds nests are very fashionable,” Ian says sincerely.

“That’s good news,” Barbara says, getting into bed. “Maybe I’ll be in a magazine.”

“You would make the cover,” Ian says, getting in beside her and resting his head next to her arm, wrapping one of his own around her. “Very fashionable indeed,” he confirms.

She shuffles down a bit further to kiss him, and then presses her cheek to his. “Goodnight, Ian.”

“G’night Barbara,” he says, sounding half asleep already.

≈

Ian yawns

“I think it’s perhaps bedtime for us,” Barbara says.

“For me as well, I think,” Alistair says. He glances at the Doctor. _‘Are you coming to bed, love?’_

“I’ll start to tidy up a bit down here, first. But I doubt it’ll be long before I follow you three’s example,” the Doctor says. _‘Why don’t you let me know when they’re settled in and I’ll come and join you, dearest?’_

They all stand, and the Doctor goes about stacking the cutlery and crockery scattering the dining table.

“Goodnight, Doctor,” Barbara says.

“Yes, goodnight, Doctor,” Ian echoes.

“Goodnight, both of you,” the Doctor says, with a smile and a nod to their friends.

Alistair leaves the room, with Ian and Barbara both following him, leaning on each other, and shows them through the house and up the stairs, to the bathroom and guest bedroom. Through the doorway he sees them both collapse on top of the bed.

He turns and goes into his own bedroom. He can hear them laughing hysterically, and banging about as they attempt to brush their teeth while as drunk as they both are. Eventually, he hears the door to the guest bedroom close a little firmer than perhaps necessary.

_‘I think they’re in for the night.’_

He goes about his own night-time routine, and is sitting up against the headboard with his legs under the covers by the time the Doctor comes in, closing the door softly. He can’t help smiling widely at them, at the sight of the person he loves entering their shared bedroom, the sight which always makes his heart swell.

The Doctor smiles back, walking over to their own side of the bed, taking their pyjamas out from where they are folded neatly under the pillow, and quickly getting changed

It’s nothing they haven’t done a thousand times before, but all he can think about is that he loves them so, _so_ much.

“I love you too, Alistair,” the Doctor says gently, voice full of the same emotion Alistair’s feeling. They lift the covers and get in beside him, and lean in close to kiss him, only a soft brush of their lips against his own, one hand on the side of his face.

He closes his eyes and kisses them again, bringing a hand up to the back of their head. They both just sit like that for a minute, noses bumping lightly as they press their lips to each other’s again and again, winding their fingers through each other’s hair.

And then the Doctor turns and shifts down the bed a bit, pillowing their head on Alistair’s thighs, folding their arm back to reach for Alistair’s hand.

“Thank you,” Alistair says, as he threads his fingers between the Doctor’s.

“What for?” the Doctor asks.

“For being discreet this evening.”

“We’re always discreet.”

It isn’t that they were trying to _hide_ their relationship, per se; yes, they have to hide it from the general public, and that includes the vast majority of UNIT HQ, but when they’re only around close friends – Liz, Anne, Benton, Yates and Ms Grant, for the most part – well, Alistair still feels more comfortable keeping physical gestures of affection between them to a minimum unless they’re completely alone, but they can relax a little.

But Alistair doesn’t know Ian and Barbara very well yet, and even though the Doctor does and trusts them, and he trusts the Doctor in that, enough to let them stay on the scene of a UNIT investigation… the thought of them knowing right away, about this part of him – that he’s bisexual is one of his most closely-guarded secrets – makes his stomach twist a bit with anxiety.

“I do know you’d like to tell Ian and Barbara about us,” he says plainly, quietly.

The Doctor squeezes his hand. “I’d like to, yes, but never at the expense of your comfort.”

“I appreciate that, that’s why I’m thanking you,” Alistair says. “For what it’s worth, I think they both seem wonderful.”

The Doctor tilts their head back so they’re making eye contact with him, albeit upside-down.

“They are wonderful,” the Doctor says. “But it isn’t my secret to tell, of course. I wouldn’t do that to anyone. The fact that I’m the one you’re in a relationship with is irrelevant.”

“Except for the fact that _you’re_ the one being unintentionally misgendered.”

“Ah, but _I_ can clear that up without outing you,” they say. “Shall I let you in on a little secret, though?”

“What’s that?”

“I know I always _exude_ confidence,” they say. “But I couldn’t bring myself to talk to them about my pronouns, either. After everything we went through together I can’t imagine either of them having a problem with something as simple as that, but when I tried to actually say something, I felt tongue-tied.”

“Would you like me to say something to them?” he offers. “This I think I could do. I could start using your correct pronouns in front of them, and then try casually mentioning it in a _just-in-case-you-hadn’t-noticed_ sort of way?”

“No – thank you, but no, I think I’d rather it came from me,” the Doctor says. “But there’s no rush, is there? For either of us. They don’t _need_ to know any of this. I’ve still had a very lovely evening seeing them again.” 

“No, they don’t. Not before we’re both ready to tell them, and I’m certain they’d understand that.”

“I’m certain they would, too,” the Doctor agrees. “It’s daft. Back on Gallifrey… well, for all their faults – which are _numerous_ , don’t get me wrong – the Timelords simply don’t have this particular set of prejudices. This ought to be water off a duck’s back to me. But this century, this country… well nothing can ever make me doubt myself or my own mind, and I don’t care what most people think. But them… they’re my friends and if, on the slightest off-chance that I’m wrong about them, I’d be devastated.”

“Oh I know, only too well,” Alistair says. “You should’ve been better off in the future, or the past; anytime more enlightened than this one.”

“No. I shouldn’t.”

“No?”

“That would be rubbish for me,” the Doctor says, pulling their joined hands towards them and kissing each of Alistair’s knuckles. “Then, I wouldn’t have you. To be here with you now is more than worth putting up with all of this nonsense a thousand times over.” 

≈

The bedside clock reads four-fifteen when Barbara stirs to the weight of Ian getting back into bed beside her. She rolls over and drapes an arm across him.

“You’re awake?” he asks.

“Just about,” she says, in barely more than a mumble even to her own ears.

“I just nipped to the bathroom,” he says. “Now that I’m a little less drunk, I only seem to be counting two bedroom doors, including this one. I’m certain the Doctor did used to sleep.”

“Well I expect he’s somewhere,” she suggests, cuddling further into Ian. “Now hush. I’m going back to sleep, myself. You should too.”

When she wakes once again, it’s just gone eight o'clock, and Ian is sitting up against the headboard, reading a book he presumably picked up off the shelf in the corner.

“Is it anything interesting?” she asks, sitting up and leaning her head on his shoulder as she peers at the pages.

“Not particularly, although it passed the time. One of the characters is going into rather great detail about his lunch, and it’s making me rather peckish, but I thought I should wait for you before going downstairs to find out if there’s any chance of breakfast.”

“That was thoughtful of you,” she says. Her stomach rumbles. “Shall we?”

“Yes please,” Ian says, closing the book and putting it down on the bedside table. They both get out of bed and get dressed – in yesterday’s clothes, but they haven’t anything else with them – and head for the stairs.

Reaching the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, she can hear quiet, relaxed voices emanating from the living room, although she can’t tell what is being said.

She’s about to knock lightly on the open door, just to alert them to herself and Ian’s presence, when the talking stops and her hand freezes mid-air when she catches sight of the Doctor and Brigadier; looking very cosy and domestic, both clad in pyjamas and dressing gowns, sitting extremely close together, arms loosely around each other, and… nope, she isn’t still drunk or dreaming: they’ve definitely just kissed.

She turns around to head back upstairs and leave them in privacy a little longer, but bumps right into Ian, who lets out a sound of surprise at the collision, alerting their host – hosts? – to their presence. The Doctor’s smile falters, and the Brigadier’s falls away entirely. They lean away from each other, but continue to grip each other’s hands.

“Barbara, Ian, good morning,” the Doctor says, his voice cordial but his chin ever-so-slightly jutting out in defiance. “Did you both sleep well?”

“Marvellously,” Barbara says.

“Yes, very well,” Ian agrees.

The Brigadier looks like a deer caught in headlights.

Presumably all this answers _that_ particular question, then.

Despite having wondered, albeit fairly briefly, on the matter the previous day, she finds herself somewhat surprised by the sight; well, she hadn’t ever particularly pictured the Doctor as a romantic type when she knew him before. But then, can anything truly be more of a surprise than all that time travel and meeting aliens and one of the aliens showing up again years later with a completely different face?

She realises they are still standing in the doorway between the hallway and living room, and pulls Ian by the sleeve, the two of them going into the living room and settling on the other sofa opposite the Doctor and Brigadier.

“Is this going to be a problem?” the Doctor asks bluntly.

“Of course not,” Ian says. Barbara gets the feeling she’s going to get an _I told you so_ later.

“Not at all,” Barbara agrees.

“Good,” the Doctor says.

“Glad to hear it,” the Brigadier says. He still looks a bit startled, but he slowly twists around and leans back, resting his head on the Doctor’s shoulder. The Doctor wraps his arms around him, in a manner Barbara might almost describe as protective.

“All that matters to us is that you’re both happy,” she asserts, “isn’t it, Ian?”

Ian nods emphatically.

“We are,” the Doctor says softly, pressing his cheek against the Brigadier’s hair. And she can hear in his voice, see in both of their postures, that he means it. Benton’s words from yesterday flash through her mind: ‘ _the Brigadier and the Doctor mean the world to each other_ ’, he’d said; and now she feels almost daft for having let herself dismiss the idea. 

“Would you like some breakfast?” the Brigadier offers, changing the subject.

“We have croissants,” the Doctor adds. “I made them yesterday morning.”

“Ooh, homemade croissants, sounds nice,” Barbara says. “Yes please.”

The Brigadier sits up so that the Doctor can get to his feet. “I’ll go fetch them then.”

“Would you like some help?” Ian offers, getting to his own feet and following the Doctor to the kitchen; leaving Barbara and the Brigadier alone.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, the Brigadier drumming his fingers on his knee, and Barbara wishes desperately that she could think of something, anything to say, but she doesn’t know what topics of conversation would interest him and it’s too early in the morning to try and recall, through her slight hangover, any clues she might have picked up on yesterday. She hopes beyond hope she isn’t giving the impression she’s feeling awkward because of what she’s just learnt.

It’s him that eventually speaks:

“When he says yesterday morning, he might as well have said Friday night,” the Brigadier tells her, “I found him baking at half past two.”

He chuckles fondly, and she finds herself joining in. Of course. There is one thing they _definitely_ know they have in common: their love for the Doctor and his daft old ways.

“Thursday night, Venusian Aikido practise on the landing at quarter to four.”

“I can’t imagine that,” she admits; he was so often tired, back in the day. “He’s got to sleep at some point, hasn’t he?”

“Oh, I know _exactly_ what’ll get him to sleep eventually,” he says, and then he actually _winks_.

Barbara snorts. “What’s Venusian Aikido?” she asks, rather than asking for any details about the other implication.

“A martial artform developed on Venus,” he says. “The Doctor’s very fond of it.”

“Ah, that’s what I thought it sounded like,” she says.

“I do too sleep, Alistair,” the Doctor’s voice, playfully indignant. Barbara looks up to see him and Ian carrying a couple of trays supporting a pile of croissants, butter and jam, and a pot of tea, along with the necessary crockery and cutlery; and putting them down on the coffee table.

The Brigadier raises an eyebrow. “When, love?”

The Doctor raises an eyebrow of his own, but doesn’t say anything; and there it is again with that feeling Barbara just somehow missed something very meaningful being said.

“Once a year,” the Doctor says, which has definitely got to be a joke. Barbara reckons that he actually does sleep more nights than not and the Brigadier is simply teasing him.

The four of them move to sit on the floor around the coffee table and get to work distributing and assembling their breakfasts.

“Oh, this is splendid,” Ian says after taking a bite of his croissant. “Doctor, you have a talent.”

“Is that so?” the Doctor asks.

“Certainly,” Barbara agrees. “This is the best croissant I’ve ever tried.”

“Well thank you,” the Doctor says.

They all fall back into an easy pattern of conversation after that, and the chinwagging continues long after their plates are cleaned and their mugs emptied.

Eventually, Ian looks at his watch. “Well, I’m afraid we’ll have to get going,” he says. “My mum is expecting us to pick Heron up soon after she’s given her lunch.”

“But we must have you both over soon,” Barbara adds, gesturing towards a pen and pad of paper she’d spotted sitting on the television table. “May I?”

The Brigadier gestures for her to go ahead. She reaches for them, writing down the address and telephone details of herself and Ian’s house.

Everyone stands, and it doesn’t take Ian and Barbara very long to get themselves assembled, since they hadn’t brought much of anything with them.

The Doctor is waiting for them by the front door, and gives each of them a long hug, and promises to telephone later in the week. He unlocks and opens the door while the Brigadier pops his head around the door to add his voice to their goodbyes.

≈

Alistair and the Doctor watch as Ian and Barbara walk down the driveway to their car, and turn around to wave a final goodbye before getting in. Alistair pushes the front door shut and leans against it.

“Well that… that went well,” the Doctor says.

“It did, yes, even if it was at rather an unplanned moment.”

The Doctor nods. “But that was our mistake.”

And it had been, as well: earlier this morning when they’d been sitting on the sofa, chatting about nothing in particular, they both had forgotten themselves for a moment, forgotten that their guests could have walked into the room at any possible moment; and they had: Barbara and Ian had walked in at exactly the _worst possible_ moment.

“Quite so,” he says. “I’m glad we made it, though. Glad we got that over with.”

“So am I,” they say, leaning against the door beside him and wrapping an arm around his waist. “I talked to Ian about using gender-neutral pronouns for me, too, while we were sorting out breakfast.”

“How did that go?”

“Very well. He was a little surprised, but very understanding, and agreed to tell it to Barbara so I wouldn’t have to explain it twice.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Alistair says. It might just be how tired he is, but he could cry with joy at this moment, for how the last twenty-four hours have gone for the Doctor. For both of them, really, but especially for the Doctor. It was their unexpected reunion, after all.

“I’m delighted. If a bit worn out.”

“I’m exhausted by it all,” Alistair says. “And I can’t believe I implied what I implied to Barbara.”

“About getting me to sleep?” the Doctor chuckles. “Yes, I was very surprised to hear you say that.” 

Alistair rubs his hands over his face. “Let’s go back to bed?”

“Not to…?”

“Oh, good grief, no,” he says. “Later, yes; and we can deal with tidying up later, too. Right now I feel as though I could keel over and fall asleep on the stairs if I wasn’t careful. So, more sleep?”

“Sounds splendid, Alistair,” the Doctor says.

≈

“Well I approve of him,” Barbara says, later on, when they are standing in their kitchen. Barbara is preparing dinner, Ian is sorting through the laundry, and Heron is sitting in her high chair staring off into space; figuratively speaking. “I know we aren’t the Doctor’s parents or anything, and it’s probably none of our business, but I… we haven’t seen much, but based on what we _have_ seen, I think they suit each other very well.”

“Yes, I know what you mean, can’t help feeling protective of the old codger, even now they really don’t seem old any more,” Ian says, smiling fondly. “And everything Benton told us was spot on.”

“Looks like it was,” Barbara says.

“By the way, I have something I need to tell you,” Ian says. “The Doctor told me about it when we were making breakfast and I promised to pass it on.”

“What is it?

“Their pronouns.”

“Whose?”

“The Doctor’s,” he says. “Their pronouns are they and them, _not_ he and him, not any more.”

“Alright…” Barbara says slowly, not fully understanding.

“I didn’t get it immediately, either,” Ian reassures her. “Now they told me – they told me that they aren’t and have never been a man, at least not in our sense of the word; and that a while back, they stopped feeling comfortable with he and him pronouns.”

“So we’ve to use singular-they pronouns for the Doctor?” Barbara asks, double-checking.

“Spot on,” Ian says.

“Well that should be easy enough,” she says. “Ian – oh god, have we been making them uncomfortable for the last… not just the last two days, but how many years?”

“No, they said that when we were travelling with them, they preferred he and him; it wasn’t until much later when they started to feel differently on the matter, when they realised _just how_ closely the English language associates that set of pronouns with masculinity. They did say their pronouns might change again at some point, but not to worry because they’d tell us if that was the case.”

“Okay,” Barbara nods. “Thanks for letting me know. Did they mention if we got anyone else’s pronouns wrong?”

“They mentioned that we didn’t, actually. Jo’s are she and her, and Mike’s, Benton’s and the Brigadier’s are all he and him,” he says. “And then they asked me if they’d got both of our pronouns right, and I…” he falters.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I said yes. That mine are he and him, and yours are she and her. But now – well, it’s just this minute occurred to me that I was making assumptions about you.”

“Oh,” she blinks. That hadn’t occurred to her, either. “Yes. No… er – yes, I’ve always felt comfortable with she and her. You?”

“Yes, he and him suit me just fine.”

They stand in silence for a moment, neither quite sure how to round off this conversation.

“Goodness, you discussed all this while making breakfast,” Barbara says eventually. “Meanwhile, the Brigadier and I… we didn’t say nearly as much.”

“He strikes me as rather… shy,” Ian says, “outwith the professional distance of his rank, of course. Don’t you think?”

Barbara ponders it for a moment. “I’m not certain _shy_ is quite the right word, but I know what you mean… and, he was the only one that didn’t shake our hands when we met.”

“I was about to offer him a handshake, then suddenly got the sense he wouldn’t be comfortable with it,” Ian says. “Other than that, I’d just have thought he’s a very private person.” 

“Well he’s certainly that,” Barbara agrees. “I must say, though: despite having been doing it for the last day, I feel a bit strange thinking of him as ‘the Brigadier’, don’t you?”

“Rather,” Ian agrees. “He isn’t _our_ Brigadier. We’re not members of this UNIT of theirs.”

Barbara hums. “I’d feel equally as strange thinking of him by his surname, for the same reason.”

“And yet, looping back to the privacy thing: the only person we heard addressing him as Alistair, was the Doctor,” Ian says.

“A conundrum indeed,” Barbara says. “Well, whatever the answer, I’m glad he’s there. And their friends too. The five of them seem to have an excellent little team going there.”

“Without a doubt,” Ian says. “Oh, it really was good to see the Doctor again, wasn’t it?”

“A wonderful surprise,” Barbara agrees. “Truly wonderful. You know something, though? We _could_ be.”

“Could be what?”

“Members of UNIT. After all, we do have _some_ experience in the field, don’t we? We could ask if they have a couple of jobs going.”

Ian gawps at her. “You’re not serious?”

She tries to keep a straight face, convince him that she is, in fact, serious; but she only manages a few seconds before she can’t help bursting into laughter, and dropping the carrot and peeler onto the chopping board, mid-stroke. Well, better than accidentally cutting her finger.

“Goodness, I love you so much,” Ian says, grinning.

Barbara smiles, still shaking a bit with laughter, and gives him a quick kiss, then wraps her arms around him. “I love you, too, Ian.”

Heron giggles along with them.

She’s really, really happy about the way her life has turned out.

**Author's Note:**

> comments, no matter how long or short, always make my day!!! If you enjoyed this, please let me know!


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